


The Legend of the White Siren

by allisondraste



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Humor, Minor Hawke/Isabela (Dragon Age), Spooky, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 21:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21259991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisondraste/pseuds/allisondraste
Summary: That Rivaini was a damn fine storyteller.





	The Legend of the White Siren

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tortuosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tortuosity/gifts).

> I hope you enjoy it, Ashley<3

It was an unseasonably cool and stormy evening for the typically mild-weathered Kirkwall. The perfect evening for Hawke and all of her colorful associates to gather in the Hanged Man, pints in hand, laughing, telling stories, and forgetting that some of them had absolutely nothing in common. Nothing  _ except _ their common allegiance to Marian and desire to drink themselves silly to forget personal perils. 

Varric was no different. He sat at one end of the long table, tracing a finger around the lip of his flagon, and watching Anders emphatically recount the horrors of Amaranthine and the demented darkspawn he called The Mother. Varric had never seen a broodmother himself, but he’d heard tales of their… disgusting appearance. Weird, terrifying shit. Rife with story potential, if one were gifted at telling stories. 

Anders was not good at telling stories.

At Hawke’s side Isabela leaned forward, mischievous grin spreading across her lips, wider and wider until finally she spoke. “Wait.  _ How  _ many tits did you say she had?”

“I didn’t count them,” Anders replied, appearing offended as if he hadn’t been the one to mention the creature’s… well, tits.

“That’d be quite a handful,” she answered, laughing and making a lewd gesture with her hands. 

“You are missing the point.”

“You’re the one who brought them up, sweet thing.”

At that, Anders turned to Hawke and sighed, “Would you please do something about your pirate?”

Hawke took a long drink from her flagon and sat it down on the table before flashing Anders one of her characteristic smiles. “You should have known better than to mention the tits.”

“Yeah Blondie,” Varric chimed in, chuckling, “You really spoiled the ambience of the story.”

“Broodmothers are vile, disgusting, tentacled creatures,” Anders protested. 

“With  _ loads  _ of tits,” Isabela snarked again. 

Off to the side,where he’d previously been stone-silent, Fenris’ lips twisted into a smile and he chuckled softly. Aveline’s brows furrowed even more deeply than her usual expression as she “hmphed.” Varric could have sworn he saw the faint glimmer of amusement in her eyes, though he knew she’d never admit it. 

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Anders said, “I give up.”

There was a brief pause in conversation before Merrill, who’d been listening intently with her elbows on the table and chin in her hands, spoke up. “Isabela, do you know any scary stories?”

Isabela chuckled proudly. “I know several, not counting the terror of being on a ship with nothing but twenty stinking men for weeks at a time.”

“Why don’t you tell one,” Merrill asked.

“Are you sure, kitten? You don’t want to hear more about Anders’ titspawn?” Isabela’s question elicited a groan and eyeroll from the mage.

Merrill shook her head. “No. It’d be nice to hear something that’s actually scary, I think.” 

“All right then,” Isabela leaned back, took a deep breath, and wove a chilling tale. 

“There are many legends that old salts tell new sailors to set their bones to shaking, but none quite as rattling as that of the White Siren,” she began, and the entire party leaned in as if mesmerized by a spell. “It is said that the White Siren is a ghoulish echo of a woman who appears from nothing to seduce the sailors on board.”

“What a load of —” Anders interjected. 

“Hush,” Merrill said, placing a finger to her lips. 

Unfazed, Isabela continued. “ Sailors who refuse her advances endure stormy, perilous seas for weeks on end as the White Siren vanishes and reappears, haunting each crewmember, day and night. They see her reflection behind them in mirrors, only to turn around to nothing. She lurks in corners of rooms and just outside windows, gazing in with a hollow expression.” 

“And what happens to those who do not refuse her,” Fenris asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“Oh,” Isabela replied with a smirk, leaning forward again,” Their fate is far, far worse. Those who give into temptation, without exception, are found dead the very next morning, all murdered in the same exact way.” 

Hawke narrowed her eyes. “How?”

“Hanged from the mast,” the pirate stated, punctuating her words for emphasis. “With their own breeches.” 

“That is absolutely ridiculous,” Aveline said, bursting out into laughter. “What person in their right mind would sleep with a spirit?"

Isabela shrugged. “It is said that the woman is very beautiful, with a voice like a bell. Some say that she is the restless spirit of the murdered wife of a long-dead sea captain, reenacting her vengeance time and again, for eternity. Others claim that she is a desire demon who has found its way through the Veil to tempt and toy with mortals. No one knows for sure.” 

“Desire demons don’t kill people. They possess them,” Anders argued, “Even if it weren’t highly unlikely that they would be able to pass through the Veil on their own.” 

“Killjoy,” Fenris muttered, ironically, under his breath. “It is just a story.”

“Is it?” Isabela tilted her head. “I have seen the White Siren with my own eyes. Anyone who spends enough time at sea does.” 

“And just how drunk were you, Rivaini,” Varric asked, eyeing her skeptically. 

“Not drunk enough,” she answered and took another drink, winking at him, and he found himself nearly convinced. 

Unlike Blondie, that Rivaini was a damn good storyteller. 


End file.
